


Skirting the Issue

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack fluff and costumes, Hanners is serving leg people, He wasn't ready for Hannibal's costume, M/M, No one was, Will Graham is a leg man, Will goes to Hannibal's Halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 15:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12609996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: At Hannibal's annual Halloween party, Will finds out some uncomfortable truths - like he has a thing for cannibals in short skirts.Belated Halloween nonsense for the prompt "sexy costume".





	Skirting the Issue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/gifts).



> So I promised Llewcie I would write this prompt, and it got just unforgivably silly. I have no excuse, my brain is a weird place.  
> I would like to that Gwibs for catching my mistakes and listening to me ramble.

          Will had many thoughts about Hannibal Lecter over the past year. He was a cannibal and a serial killer. He was a manipulative fuck who had managed to bamboozle both the FBI and the crème de la crème of Baltimore society. He was the motherfucker who had framed Will for murder and forced him to interact with Frederick fucking Chilton. Hannibal Lecter was, as far as Will’s brain was concerned, a total dick. Unfortunately, as Will watched the people eating prick float from conversation to conversation at his annual Halloween Soirée – and honestly, who the fuck even used the word _soirée_ anymore? – Will was forced to admit there was another thought that kept circling around like a gnat just behind his eyes.

          Hannibal Lecter was a fucking fox.

          When Hannibal opened the door, Will had nearly choked on his tongue. The doctor, usually safely ensconced in 20 layers of brightly colored paisley and wool, was wearing…well, not very much. A light muslin tunic covered his torso and the upper section of his thighs, revealing powerful arms and flexing leg muscles. Over the tunic was some sort of Greek breast plate, with abs and pecs outlined in metal. Bracers bracketed both of Hannibal’s wrists and shins. But what stopped Will dead were the leather straps hanging from the breast plate, creating a swishing skirt over the tunic that barely covered the tops of Hannibal’s thighs.

          How many squats did a man have to do to get thighs like that? Did lifting bodies for dismemberment really give you that much of a workout? Was serial killing really so wrong when it gave you a body like-

          Will shook his head and looked up, which turned out to be a bigger mistake. The doctor’s customarily slicked back hair was replaced by a grey wig with five twisting braids dividing his scalp and begging to be pulled. Hannibal had somehow grown a full beard in the two weeks since Will had last seen him. Thick and streaked with silver around his chin, the beard balanced the stark planes of Hannibal’s cheeks making his face look touchable and inviting. Will clenched his fingers into fists against the impulse.

          Will jumped when he felt Hannibal’s hand land on his shoulder. He blinked and realized Hannibal had been speaking.

          “-alright? May I get you some water?”

          “Bear.” It was the first word that came to Will’s mind and his traitor tongue flicked it out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

          Hannibal smiled, the beard suited his sharp teeth. “I’m sorry?”

          “BAR.” Will stared hard at the polished wood of Hannibal’s floor. “I, uh, was asking where the bar was.”

          Hannibal’s hand hadn’t left Will’s shoulder. He reeled the empath closer before gently pushing him toward to the left. “I believe you’ll find a suitable bar in the study. Let me know if you’d like something not offered by the bartender.”

          Will swallowed hard, ignoring the way his face burned to the tips of his ears.

* * *

 

          By the time the third member of Hannibal’s Fancy Society for Snooty Shits gave him the once over, Will had settled on his response. He’d also made a note that the faster Hannibal walked, the higher his skirt swished – not that he’d been tracking the doctor from his little hideaway at the end of the bar.

          “And what are YOU supposed to be?” asked a woman from behind the fine gold filigree of a Venetian Carnival mask. Her head tipped down, taking in Will’s dockers, boots, and rumpled blue shirt.

          Will downed his whiskey and raised an eyebrow. “I’m dressed as an unstable formal mental patient.”  

          She tilted her head and smiled, the expression was unnerving from behind the mask. “Ah, you’re Hannibal’s Will.”

          “I’m Hannibal’s what?” Will signaled the bartender shaking his glass.

          “The entomologist and profiler? You have perfect empathy which makes you ideal for adopting points of view,” the woman leaned in, her voice dropping. “Even unsavory ones. I’ve heard the paper you wrote on beetles eating cadavers was a landmark in the field.”

          Will tilted his head, it sloshed when he moved.

          “You – What?”

          “Ingrid!” Will watched as the woman drew even more people to his small corner of the bar. It was getting hard to keep his eyes on Hannibal’s ass as the people gathered. “I’ve found Will Graham! Isn’t he EXACTLY what Hannibal said he’d be.”

          Another mask leaned in, Will leaned back, brow furrowing under the scrutiny.

          “Are you sure? His eyes are really more Prussian blue than Aegean, don’t you think, Mirella?”

          “Well, Hannibal did say the Aegean after a storm,” A hand gripped Will’s chin. He was too surprised to fight when it tilted his head to the light. “No, I can see it, Aegean, definitely.”

          “If you say so.”

          Will turned to the bartender, offering his tumbler. “Just fill the glass to the top.”

* * *

 

          Forty-five of the longest minutes of his life later, Will had finally managed to bore the crowd of society women away from him. Hannibal had come by once and Will had barely managed to keep his hands from grabbing that goddamn skirt and flipping it up. Instead he had ordered another drink and glared as he kept his eyes on Hannibal’s ass.

          “What are you doing over here?” Bev sidled up to Will at the bar.

          “Watching Hannibal’s ass.” Will frowned at the truth of the statement, then glared at his glass. “I mean I was-”

          “It’s cool, Will.” Bev nudged Will’s side, sending the empath slightly off balance. “We’re all staring at his ass. Who knew, huh?”   

          “It’s fucking indecadent,” Will slurred, signaling the bartender for another whiskey as he and Bev watched Hannibal move around the room.

          “It’s what?”

          “How does he bend over?”

          “I dunno,” Bev leaned her head on Will’s shoulder, clinking her glass with his. “But I hope to hell we find out. Quick, give me something to drop.”

          “He’s fucking with me.” Will took a long sip from his glass. “I know he’s fucking with me.”

          “Can I ask you something, Mr. Graham?”

          “What?”

          “Why are you here to be fucked with?”

          “Huh?”

          “You think the man’s the Ripper. You think he framed you. Why the hell did you come here tonight?”

          “I didn’t know he was going to wear a skirt.” Will waved his drink at the man in question, sloshing expensive whiskey on the floor. “You just wait. When he puts his pants back on, I’ll fucking get him.”

          Bev winked at him. “Well, good luck there. One of us ought to get him.”

          “Hey! He put me in jail I GET HIM!”

          “So…you paid, now you get to play?”

          “I just need to find out what’s under that skirt.”

          Bev’s hand clapped on his shoulder. “Yeah, ya do. Give me two seconds, then follow him.”

          “Huh?”

          But Bev was gone. Walking over to Hannibal and asking him something. With a smile and a nod, Hannibal left the room, skirt swishing behind him. Will refilled his glass and took off after him, only stumbling twice.

          He followed Hannibal into the wine cellar, careful to close the door behind him. Hannibal reached for a bottle above his head, his skirt raising a few inches on his thighs. Will’s liquor loose mind told him to move forward – to bite, lick, and claim every bare inch of skin he could find. His fingers scrunched at the thought, the impulse flowing through him in his blood stream.

          “I know you’re behind me, Will.” Hannibal inspected the bottle before replacing it and selecting a new one. “Did you need something?”

          “Did you?” Will tried to saunter toward Hannibal, managing to take an unsteady step and catch himself on a rack of priceless booze. He was proud he didn’t spill the whiskey that sloshed in his tumbler.  

          “I’m not sure I catch your meaning.” Hannibal made no move toward Will, instead leaning back on the wall and observing Will as he tottered amongst the wine.

          “I think I’ve had this wrong the whole time.” Will leaned into Hannibal’s space. Hannibal’s mouth ticked up for a moment. “I thought you were trying to get rid of me.”

          “I’ve told you several times, Will. You’re mistaken about me.” Hannibal’s beard glinted in the low light. Will wondered how it would feel on his thighs.

          “I’m not mistaken about you.” Will smiled. “I was just mistaken about why you were doing it.”

          Hannibal’s eyebrow raised. “And what, do you think were my motivations?”

          Will let his hand trace down the broad expanse of Hannibal’s chest. “I thought you wanted me gone. I thought you put me in jail so you could keep killing people and sticking them in your antique pepper mill, or whatever the fuck it is you do with them.”

          Hannibal’s head tilted, his eyes shining. “And you no longer believe my motivation was to get rid of a pesky FBI consultant who was interfering with my spices?”

          Will pulled back, downing the rest of the booze. “Why does everyone here know about me? And that my eyes are the exact shade of the Aegean after a summer storm? Why did Mimsy Whatsherface-”

          “Mirella Coughlan?”

          “Sure, fine. Why did she know about my paper on Necrophila americana effecting the decay rates of cadavers?”

          “I wouldn’t dare guess what Mirella does in her free time.” Hannibal dismissed with a slight snarl.

          “I would.” Will grinned. “You told her. In fact, you can’t seem to shut the fuck up about me. I’m the most popular boy at the party thanks to you.”

          “And what do you think that means?”

          “I think it means that you,” Will attempted to poke Hannibal in the chest and missed. Bottles clattered as he fell into the racks, but Hannibal caught Will before he hit the floor. Will shook his head and repositioned his finger to poke, noting that Hannibal’s pecs were unfairly hard under that breast plate. “You have a crush on me.”

          “A crush?”

          “You’ve got it bad,” Will nodded. “And sending me to a mental hospital was your version of pulling my pigtails, wasn’t it, you crazy bastard?”

          “You think I’d be so impolite as to pull a pigtail?” Will was standing, but Hannibal’s hands hadn’t left his hips.

          “No, I don’t suppose you would.” Will squinted, studying Hannibal’s face. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you freaked out!”

          “I don’t freak out.”

          “You did! You got some pants feelings for me and lost your little demented mind!” Will’s smile was wide, he leaned into Hannibal’s chest. “You should have killed me, that would have been cleaner, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, could you? So, you sent me to Chilton!”

          “And yet here you are.” Hannibal released Will. The empath swayed slightly. “Your theory has a flaw. If I were a diabolical cannibal who wanted to get rid of you, shouldn’t you still be incarcerated? And why would I invite you to my Halloween soirée?”

          “Because,” Will swayed again. “You missed me! You’ve got a cannibal crush!”

          “Will,” Hannibal reached out to steady Will, but the empath moved to evade the doctor’s hands and fell to his knees. He looked up at Hannibal, shuffling closer to him.

          “You ruined my life because you’re afraid I’d ruin yours.”

          “Allow me to help you up.”

          “Nah, I’m good here.” Will toyed with the cloth and leather of Hannibal’s skirt.

          “Will, you’re drunk.”

          “I’m not drunk, I’m charming.”

          “I assure you, you’re drunk.”

          “See, this is why you had to frame me, you can’t just hit on me like a normal cannibal.” Will cocked his head. “Are there normal cannibals? Do you guys have meetings?”

          Will waved his hand at Hannibal. “Eh, you can tell me later.”

          Will flipped Hannibal’s skirt up and stuck his head underneath the folds.

          Hannibal’s hands were trying to grab Will’s shoulders. Will slapped at them. “Will! You’re inebriated and I can’t allow-”

          “Stop that!” Will grumbled. “Do you know how hard it is to suck dick when someone’s pawing at you?”

          “Will, you will likely regret this decision when sober. Please st-” Hannibal made a chocked noise when Will sucked over the bulge in his briefs. The hands pushing at Will’s shoulders began to grip tightly.

          Will relaxed into the grip, raising his hand to trace the growing interest in Hannibal’s briefs.

          “You put an ear in me, frame me for murder, but you draw the line at drunken hook-ups?” Will laughed. “Your moral compass is fucked.”

          Will moved to suck at Hannibal’s briefs again when he heard the door open.

          “Hannibal, do you have any more Montrache- OH MY GOD!” Alana let out a startled chuckle. “Oh, I didn’t see a head for a moment, who, uh, who’s under there?”

          Will panicked at the shout, lurching forward and head-butting Hannibal in the groin. He heard Hannibal grunt, his legs tensing against the assault. The muscles of those powerful thighs distracted Will from their unexpected company, he softly bit the right quadriceps.

          He felt Hannibal swat his head from under the skirt.

          “Ow, we talked about the hitting!”

          “Will?”

          With a sigh Will pulled his head out from under Hannibal’s skirt. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light again. He could just make out the imperious stance of Alana, hands on her hips as she stood in the doorway.

          “Hi Alana.”

          “I can’t believe this!”

          “If you had knocked, Alana-” Hannibal stepped forward, straightening his skirt. Will noted with some glee there was a distinct tenting in the front.

          "Sorry I didn't knock, I didn't realize I’d find you in here with the headless horseman!" Alana rolled her eyes.

          Will wobbled slightly as he turned to face Alana fully. Unfortunately, his knees gave way and he landed on his ass. He glared at Alana. "I'm not the headless horseman! I-if anything I'm the head giving horseman! That's different! And sexy!"

          Alana sighed before raising her eyes to Hannibal. "Make sure he gets some water in him before bed."

          "That's not the only thing I want in m-"

          "Yes, perhaps some coffee as well.” Hannibal bent and lifted Will with surprising ease.

          “Fuck, you’re strong. You think you could hold me up while we-”

          “Good night, Alana." Hannibal lofted Will over his shoulder. “Could you please inform the rest of my guests that the party is over?”

          “Of course.” Alana quirked her brow. She stooped slightly to meet Will’s eyes. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Will.”

          “Hey Hannibal? Your ass looks better from this angle!” Will pulled up the skirt, grabbing at the fleshy globes. Alana laughed softly and Will turned to glare again. “You had your chance! These are mine now.”

          With a sigh, Hannibal slapped at Will’s hands, ignoring the angry _yelp_ from the empath. “Let’s get you to a guest room, Will.”

          “Why would we…OH! No spunk on your fancy sheets! Smart! Very smart! That’s why the FBI never catches you, you’re always one step ahead!”

          He could feel himself shift as Hannibal sighed, marching him through the foyer and toward the staircase. As he swung upside down, Will noticed the gold filigree mask from earlier in the evening.

          “HEY MIMSY!” Will called, grabbing at Hannibal’s tunic and lifting it up. “Pretty goddamn good, huh? Like the Aegean of asses!”

          He grinned as Hannibal dropped him to the ground only to immediately lift him into a bridal carry and continue up the steps.

          “Forgive me, ladies and gentleman, as Will was overserved, I believe it’s best to get him to bed,” The doctor called over his shoulder.

          “Yeah, I’m the best in bed!” Will tried to lift an eyebrow but ended up simply cocking his whole head to the side. Hannibal ignored his seduction attempt. He was able to see the crowd whispering and watching as he ascended the stairs. Will raised a hand and waved. “BYE MIMS! I’LL TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT LATER!”

          The woman in the mask waved back.

* * *

 

          Will had managed to tangle one hand back into the leather strips of Hannibal’s skirt as he was laid back down on the bed. When the doctor attempted to free himself, Will pulled harder trying to touch the tanned thighs that were now eye-level.

          “Will, I need you to lay down.”

          “FINALLY! You want me with my legs up? Should I flip over?” Will attempted to turn, but the room spun and he fell back to the mattress.

          “I will bring you water and then you will sleep, on your side.” Hannibal ran a hand through Will’s curls. “Please, try not to choke on your own vomit in the night.”

          Will squinted at him. “Is that your idea of dirty talk?”

          Hannibal left, only to return holding a large glass of water. As the doctor stooped to place the water on the nightstand, Will lunged. He grabbed Hannibal’s shoulders and slammed their faces together, eventually finding the doctor’s lips for a rather sloppy kiss.

          Hannibal pulled back, panting. “Will-”

          Will threaded his hands into Hannibal’s hair and pulled the man back to him, relishing the press of his body. He felt Hannibal sigh, then push into Will’s embrace. The kiss was staggering, Hannibal nipped and sucked along Will’s lower lip until the empath could do nothing but hold onto Hannibal’s hair like an anchor.

          When the anchor gave way, however, Will pulled back. In his hand was a cluster of beautiful silver braids. He shoved at Hannibal, eyes wide as he looked at his hand.

          “CHRIST, I SCALPED YOU!”

          “Will, it was merely a wig.”

          Will waved the braids at Hannibal, whose head seemed reasonably intact. “Thank god. Fuck, how do you dismember people all the time? It’s such a boner killer.”

          Hannibal straightened, pushing a hand over his head and removing a wig cap. “Please go to bed.”

          “Fine.” Will turned over, cradling the braid in his hands.

          “Will?” Hannibal held out his hand.

          “Hmmm?”

          “The wig, Will.”

          “No!” Will gripped the strands harder. Hannibal sighed.

          “Very well. Goodnight, Will.”

          “Night.”

          Will fell asleep to the feeling of soft braids brushing his cheek.

* * *

 

          Will woke with his hands tangled in fine silver hair. He only yelped a little bit when he tugged on it, and found no head attached. Bringing up the wig to his bleary eyes, he studied the messy braids. He thought about the way they fell along Hannibal’s shoulders, and the scratch of Hannibal’s beard against his chin.

          “I think I’m in love with a cannibal,” He told the braids. They offered him no response. His head pounded and he reached blindly for the water that Hannibal had left beside him.

          After draining the glass, Will looked toward the door. He’d have to get past Hannibal to leave the house. The real question was whether he should feign amnesia and flee, or pray Hannibal hadn’t shaved and jump him.

          “I mean, he eats them, so he’s not wasting anything…” Will argued to the braids. “It’s not like he’s killing puppies.”

          With a sigh, Will fell back upon the mattress. He’d worry about his decision when his head stopped throbbing. As he shut his eyes, he reached out and let his fingers pet the braids again.

* * *

 

          Predictably, Hannibal was in the kitchen when Will came upon him. The empath was thrilled to note the beard was still on the doctor’s chin. He took a moment to admire the man as he massaged a spice rub into what Will figured might be pork. Or one of last night’s guests.

          It was a toss-up.

          "So last night was a mess,” Will started. Hannibal looked up, his bangs falling in his face. Will missed the braids immediately. “But I thought about it and just because I was drunk doesn’t mean I regret it.”

          “In vino veritas?” Hannibal asked, a small quirk of his mouth indicating he found Will’s predicament amusing.

          “I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

          “About what, Will?”

          “Why you did what you did?”

          Hannibal went back to kneading the flesh in his hands. Will moved a few steps toward the doctor.

          “I give if you give.”

          Hannibal’s hands froze. “I think I’ll need some clarification, Will.”

          “I’ll admit I have a thing for you if you admit you have a thing for me.”

          “And what would the significance of this _thing_ be?”

          Will leaned over the kitchen island, catching Hannibal’s eye. “The _thing_ would mean we stop trying to destroy each other and start taking each other’s clothes off.”

          Hannibal was moving before Will finished his sentence, around the island with startling speed and caging Will to the counter. Will held up a hand.

          “I need some concessions from you if we're going to do this for real."

          Hannibal snarled. Will could see the betrayal and anger in his eyes as he leaned in. “An admission, perhaps? Should I speak into your phone or do you think Uncle Jack can hear us?”

          Will laughed. He fished his phone out of his pocket and threw it into the sink. Hannibal turned to watch the phone land with a clatter by his saucier pan when strong fingers grabbed the hair on his chin and brought him back to Will’s eyes.

          “First,” Will tugged on Hannibal’s beard. “This stays. And you need to grow out your hair – at least long enough that I can braid it.”

          “My,” Hannibal tilted his head. “My hair?”

          “And skirts.”

          “Skirts?”

          Will pulled Hannibal in by the chin until their lips met. He waited for the doctor to melt into their kiss before pushing him back. “Yeah, you’re going to need to wear a skirt for me at least once a week.”

          Will leaned in, but Hannibal avoided his lips.

          "You...have no other objections to my lifestyle?"

          Will shrugged. "Well, you do have a tendency to use too much garlic, but we can work on that."

          He tugged Hannibal back into a kiss before he could respond.  


End file.
